Timing
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: He knows he has to, but he can't bring himself to call her. Not yet. (Harry/Nikki, between series 15 and 16).


**Author's Note:** Set between series 15 and 16, just after Harry's departure.

* * *

He stops himself at the last second. His finger is hovering over the 'Call' button, and before he realises that he's doing it, he's punched in a different number. One he knows almost as well; one his fingers are almost as comfortable dialing. But this one doesn't make his insides twist quite so intensely.

Five rings. The voice that answers is a little bit gruff, and Harry suddenly remembers that he's five hours behind. It's almost one in the morning in London. He feels like he should be more sorry than he is.

"Leo," he says, and his words sound weak. "Hi." He has nothing else to say. He has a million things to say. Some of them are things that he's already said a million times. Some of them, he thinks, he will never say.

He's not sure what he expected, but when Leo's voice comes back, delayed and slightly chastising, he isn't surprised. He deserves it.

"Have you called Nikki yet?"

He scrubs his free hand over his face, like it'll take away the jetlag and the plane-grime, and a whole host of other things that he can't even name right now. He's exhausted, in an unfamiliar place - _my place_, he thinks to himself - and if the stinging behind his eyes is anything to go by, he's a bit drunker than he thought. He'd been taken almost directly from the airport to the university, then quickly initiated as faculty with a bottle of rather good Scotch.

Leo's waiting for a response. Although he wants to think it's just the delay of the phone lines. He thinks of all the excuses he could make, and every one of them falls dead on his tongue. This is Leo. And even five hours in the future, and even 5500 kilometres away, Leo would know them for what they are. So he simply says, "No."

Leo's only response is a sigh, a sigh that says, _You're an idiot_, that says, _She's going to kill you_, that says, _I understand._

He moves on to other topics, but Harry doesn't hear all that much after that.

Because the thing is, he wants to call her. Almost had. But he'd realised months ago (years ago, really) that leaving London meant leaving Nikki. That's why he hadn't done it the first time. And this isn't the fucking Middle Ages. He knows that they could keep in touch, that they could, in fact, see each other in person on occasion. And that they probably will, at some point. But he also knows better; he knows himself better, and he knows Nikki better. That wasn't fair, not to either of them. He was prepared for this when he took the job - he knew that he'd miss them, Leo and Nikki. He knew that the only thing that would make him homesick would be them. He'd feared how he'd cope without them, his touchstones, the two people who make - _made_ - his life insane, and his insane life bearable.

This job. It's new, and exciting; it pays better, and he's in fucking New York City. But it's also a safe job, a solid job, and it gives him the kind of life that he feels he should want at this point. A safe, solid life. He wants a girlfriend, children, normality. He's ready for that. Nikki, he knows, is not. He knows better than to think that he's incapable of having a life without her, of being happy without her. But right now... Right now it feels impossible. And he feels ridiculous. But she's been his best friend for years. He's closer to her than he's been to almost anyone else in his life, and being away from her hurts a little bit. A little bit more than a little bit, if he's honest. A lot more.

And he can't even bring himself to call her.

Because, he thinks, he knows what it would do to both of them. He'd start to question himself, she'd try to be encouraging, and it would more than likely end in a shouting match. Or worse, civility. They haven't talked about it, not really. Which scares him, because they talk about everything - everything, he figures, except them. They've never really talked about Them, because everything between them had always been unspoken. He knows that she'll make herself move on, the same way he will do himself. Moreover, he knows that she understands, the same way he knows that she was lying when she said she was fine. But she will be, in time. And so will he.

And he's thought this move over. Thousands of times. He's barely done anything else since he got the offer - the same offer he turned down just a few years ago. He wondered what had changed in him that this time, when he got the letter, he felt a keen thrill of interest. It took him a month to decide, and for weeks after that, he'd walked into the lab confident that this would be the morning that he would announce it. And for weeks he'd seen Nikki laugh over some stupid joke, or Leo concerned over a new case, or someone would give him a coffee, and he couldn't do it. It was unfair and cowardly, but somehow that fact seemed less important.

He'd once, after he'd made the decision, said to Nikki, "How are you two going to cope without me?" It had been intended as a joke, something to break the tension of an unpleasant moment, sitting on a park bench, both lost in their own heads. But in that moment, a mildly terrifying reality had sunk in: neither of them knew. It was, for all intents and purposes, a very practical question. She hadn't answered, just held his gaze for a little while, unreadable or unnamable emotions flickering across her face, then leaned her head on his shoulder.

On top of everything else, Leo's breakup had taken its toll on all of them. Leo had been out-of-sorts for months after that, Nikki treading on eggshells and occasionally lashing out. The few times she'd offered a sympathetic ear, Leo had brushed her off. He'd tried to keep it together, keep them together, and while he'd known that they'd pull through (they always did), it still felt like things were falling to pieces around him. Even when that started to get better, he still felt off.

It had become... too much, he thinks. All of it. His life. It was crazy where it should have been easy, and nonexistent where it should have been crazy. He's too old for that, now. He's been there, and he can't afford to stay. Confusion and pain have been so much a part of his life for the past eight years. He needs something different.

He doesn't regret it.

Not really, he doesn't, because he's made the decision not to. Not to allow himself to. It's counterproductive and self-destructive and there's no point, really, because he's been over it so many times. Whether anything even could have persuaded him this time, he doesn't know.

Because like last time, she'd told him to go.

And this time, he'd listened.


End file.
